


Best Laid Plans

by likeatumbleweed



Series: The Brave and Happy Life of Loki and Sigyn [9]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Anniversary, Attempted Sex, Children of Characters, F/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 14:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3212492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeatumbleweed/pseuds/likeatumbleweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki and Sigyn attempt to celebrate their anniversary, only to be hindered at every turn by extenuating circumstances (especially their precocious six-year-old daughter, Unna, who has a terrible grasp of the appropriate time to show off newly acquired magic skills).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Laid Plans

Sigyn feels the bed move as her husband shifts next to her. She steadfastly stays curled around her pillow and refuses to open her eyes, knowing she doesn’t need to get up for at least another thirty minutes. Surely he will understand she doesn’t want to be disturbed. But instead of rolling away from her and out of the bed, Loki moves closer.

His hand moves her hair off of her neck, where it is quickly replaced by his mouth. Tiny kisses pepper her skin. “Good morning, beautiful. Are you awake?” he asks, his voice warmer and silkier than the sheets covering her body.

“No, I’m sleeping,” she groans into her pillow. “Go be cheerfully alert somewhere else.”

“But I want to be cheerfully alert with _you_. Have you forgotten what today is?”

“It’s too early to remember anything.”

“It’s our anniversary.”

“Ah yes, now I remember,” she says, attempting to burrow even further into the mattress. “But it will still be our anniversary thirty minutes from now, and I will be better rested.”

“True,” he says, his breath tickling the back of her neck, “but imagine how much celebrating we can accomplish in those thirty minutes.”

She didn’t think he could get any closer, but he manages, hooking one long leg over hers and sliding his hand beneath her sleeping gown.

He squeezes her rear and grinds into her, already firm and demanding against her hip. “I don’t understand why you insist on wearing these in bed,” he says, gripping her gown and snapping the waistband of her undergarments. “They’re such a tiring impediment.”

For his part, Loki has an exasperating habit of sleeping in the nude nearly every night. She asked him about this particular predilection once, wondering if he wouldn’t be more comfortable with at least some smallclothes, and his answer had been infuriatingly glib: _I sleep this way so I’m always prepared should you require my…services._ In truth she knows it is a remnant of a behavior from his princely bachelorhood…when he never had to concern himself with anyone interrupting his solitude, especially small children.

“You’re a tiring impediment to my _sleep_ ,” she says, trying to maintain her irritation even as her resolve to not give in to his advances inexorably vanishes. “But I don’t suppose you’re going to leave me in peace, are you?”

He traces the edge of her ear with his tongue. “I’m afraid not.”

She kicks his leg off of hers and spins around to look at him directly; it is just bright enough for her to make out his self-satisfied smirk in the faint morning light. “All right then,” she says. “I’m awake. Are you happy now?”

“Not quite.” He is back under her gown then, barely teasing the edge of her undergarments before slipping a single finger beneath the fabric and across her center. “So responsive to me already, and I’ve barely touched you,” he says. “Tell me truthfully, Princess – were you dreaming about me?”

“It’s _Ambassador_ ,” she says with a scowl. “And why would I need to dream about you when I have you right here?”

Her breath catches as he shifts his hand slightly and dips only the very tip of a single finger into her body, circling it in exactly the way she loves – _bless him and curse him in equal measure for being so damned observant_. She makes a disgraceful whimpering sound in the back of her throat before she can stop herself, and it is only through sheer force of will that she is able to maintain the slightest measure of composure.

“Come now, _Ambassador_ ,” says Loki, his deliberate choice of words not going unnoticed, “What must I do to make you lose control? This perhaps?” Two exceptionally long fingers disappear into her body, and with a focused precision almost immediately find the spot deep inside her that makes her toes curl and her skin feel like it’s on fire. Her eyes flutter closed and her head drops back onto her pillow, her torso involuntarily constricting from the sensation, the movement of her hips into his hand a silent plea for more.

“Ah, it seems I’ve found your weakness,” he says with a chuckle. “I probably shouldn’t feel so superior, but –“ His hand suddenly stops moving and he falls silent.

Sigyn opens her eyes to find him looking back over his shoulder. “What is it?” she asks. He doesn’t answer, instead pulling his hand from her and rearranging her gown as he watches something move across the room toward their bed.

Tiny footsteps, barely audible, reach Sigyn’s ears just as their six-year-old daughter Unna comes into her view.

“Another minute, and that would have been disastrous,” whispers Loki. “Good morning, little dove,” he says to Unna. “You’re up early.”

“I had a bad dream, Papa,” she answers, her voice still raspy from sleep. “There was a monster chasing me.”

“Oh, that’s terrible. Would you like for me to –“

“Mama, will you hold me?” she asks, not waiting for an answer before clambering up onto the bed and under the furs.

“Of course, darling,” says Sigyn, subtly pushing Loki away as she cradles their daughter. “It’s a good thing I’m wearing my special monster-resistant sleeping gown,” she adds, side-eyeing her husband. “You’re safe in here with me.”

“Yes, it’s a good thing I was just leaving,” says Loki with a sigh. “There doesn’t seem to be room in here for all three of us.” There is a faint flicker of light beneath the sheets, and when he stands there are loose-fitting leggings hanging from his narrow hips. He glances back, looks to make certain Unna’s eyes are closed and he has Sigyn’s attention, and indecently sucks his fingers between his lips.

 _That’s not fair_ , she mouths to him.

 _No, it isn’t_ , he mouths back, raising an eyebrow at her before heading to the washroom.

* * *

Breakfast goes quickly, their three children chattering excitedly about their plans for the day. Sigyn is preparing to see them off to their various destinations when she pulls Loki aside.

“I have a few errands that cannot be delayed, but I can meet you back here midmorning,” she says. “We’ll have the entire place to ourselves, and we can resume our…celebration.”

“Midmorning. Don’t be late.”

They each go their separate ways: Ari to the library, Eiđr to the training grounds, and Unna – usually one to learn spells with her father – will instead be spending the day studying with her Amma Frigga. Sigyn retreats to her private offices near the king’s council rooms, and Loki is left to occupy himself.

He spends his time rearranging the contents of his desk, taking inventory of supplies he needs to replenish, and making a list of books he intends to have Sigyn procure for him on her next trip off-realm. His tasks keep him blessedly distracted for the morning, and before long he realizes she should be back any moment.

He strips quickly and gets into the bed, his thoughts already wandering to the various ways he plans on bending Sigyn’s body to his will. His determination to render her completely useless before their midday meal – boneless and sated to the point that she’ll lack even the ability to speak coherently – is overpowering. He reclines back with one arm behind his head and absentmindedly lets his other hand wander down his torso. He strokes himself lazily, his fantasies becoming more and more filthy with each passing second –

He is startled out of his reverie by a knock on the door. He waits in silence, hoping the interloper will take the hint and leave, but after a moment another knock sounds, even more urgent than the first.

He rises from the bed in a huff, throwing his robe on and tying the sash roughly around his waist as he stomps to the doors. He cracks one open to find a young – and visibly frightened – palace page on the other side.

“Y-your Highness,” he stutters. “I have a note for you…f-from your wife.” He holds out an envelope, the paper shaking in his hand. Loki snaps it out of his fingers without a word and shuts the door in his face.

He rips the envelope open, discarding it to the floor as he pulls the note from inside.

 

_My darling Loki,_

_In my eagerness to arrange time with you, I completely forgot about a meeting I had this morning that, despite my best efforts, could not be rescheduled. Regrettably, it looks to last through the midday meal; I do hope you can forgive the late notice. If you’re not too out of sorts, perhaps we can try again this afternoon before the children return?_

_-Your beloved Sigyn_

_P.S. I do hope you aren’t intolerably rude to the poor page I send. It is getting more and more difficult to find any of them willing to help me with these types of errands; it seems my incessant attempts to assure the palace staff of your harmlessness are being consistently undermined by your actual behavior._

_P.P.S. Fortunately for you, I still love you, even when you’re ill-tempered._

 

He throws the note into the hearth and watches as the flames consume it before dressing once again. His groin aches from unalleviated pressure for the second time that day, and he frowns as he pulls his breeches up.

“Yes, I know,” he says to his slowly wilting cock. “I’m not happy about it either.”

* * *

As soon as he is presentable, Loki makes his way to his mother’s gardens hoping to insinuate himself into whatever plans Frigga and Unna might have to help pass the time.

His mother and daughter are sitting in the shade, practicing some of the more rudimentary conjuring spells together. Unna is halfway to creating a raven’s feather when she sees him; immediately, the feather disintegrates and she rushes to him.

“Papa!” she squeals as Loki scoops her up. “Amma Frigga says I’m her favorite student ever, even more than you were when you were little.”

“Is that so?”

“It most certainly is,” says Frigga, joining them in the sun. “Not only is my granddaughter here a remarkable student, but her delightful company is most welcome. We were just about to eat – would you care to join us?”

“Well, if my company isn’t too disagreeable, I’d love to.”

* * *

Many hours later, Loki is chasing Unna through his mother’s garden when he hears a voice that makes him stop dead in his tracks.

“Good afternoon, Your Majesty. You haven’t by chance seen my husband, have you?”

He comes slowly around a large apple tree to find Sigyn standing with his mother, her arms crossed over her chest.

“As a matter of fact, I have,” says Frigga. “Ah, there he is now.”

He approaches them sheepishly; when Unna sees her mother and tries to dash past him, he swings her up into his arms instead, a living shield against his wife’s potential anger.

Sigyn looks at him, her head tilted to one side. “Are you two having fun?”

“Oh, yes,” he says pulling her in to kiss her cheek.

“Did you forget about me?” she asks under her breath as soon as he’s close enough.

“It seems I did,” he says with a wince. “Forgive me. I _completely_ lost track of time.”

“You’re punishing me for this morning, aren’t you.”

“Oh, hardly,” he says, shaking his head vehemently. “I’d rather not be forced to sleep on the sofa tonight.”

“Sofas aren’t for sleeping, Papa,” says Unna from her perch on his hip. “That’s what beds are for.”

“Indeed they are,” he says, and only a sharp look from Sigyn stops him from adding ‘ _amongst other things’._

* * *

Even though it is filled with the usual events of dinner and revisiting the day’s activities with their children, the rest of their day passes at a slow crawl. Loki and Sigyn are never alone together for even a single moment; it is late in the evening before everyone else is in bed and they are able to go back to their chambers.

No sooner has the door shut behind them than Sigyn has Loki shoved up against it, clawing at his clothing like a beast. He faintly hears a seam rip, but can’t be bothered to care too much, so caught up is he in gracelessly attempting to divest her of her dress. They don’t even take the time to turn on any of the room’s lights, relying instead on the glow of the ever-present fire in the hearth to illuminate their activities.

“This day has been agonizing,” she says, fumbling with the fastenings of his overcoat between breathless kisses. “Ugh – why must your clothing be so damned _complicated_? I swear, if you aren’t inside me in the next twenty seconds, I am going to scream.”

“Don’t tease me,” he says, helping her by making quick work of his overcoat and the tunic beneath it. “You know there isn’t a sound I love better in all the nine realms.”

She smiles up at him and says nothing more, using her mouth to instead trace a line down his freshly bared torso. She reaches the waistline of his breeches, her breath tantalizingly hot on the sensitive skin of his hips…and stops, standing up straight again with dizzying speed.

“Get on the bed.”

Not wanting to disappoint, Loki complies with her demand at once. He kicks his boots into a far corner and flops down onto the bed, turning back to her just in time to watch her step from the pile of fabric that was her dress, now abandoned at her feet. She moves forward, and her undergarments are likewise removed and discarded onto the floor.

Hooking her fingers into the top of his breeches before he can remove them, Sigyn none-too-gently tugs them down. She tosses them aside without a glance, keeping her attentions instead on his exceptionally eager body. Graceful fingers take him in hand, her ministrations at expert level after so many years together. Her legs open wide as she climbs onto the bed and straddles him – _oh sweet gates of Valhalla, take me in_ – affording him a fleeting vision of the treasure that lies between them, glistening with unrepentant arousal.

She maneuvers him into place – so frustratingly _close_ to his reward – but before allowing him entrance, she pauses to ask him a single question: “Did you lock the door?”

“Yes, of course. Now if you would just – “

“Maybe you should seal it, just in case.”

He waves his hand in the vague direction of the door, the green haze of a hastily thrown spell spreading over its surface. She watches it for a moment, and then, apparently satisfied with their privacy, slides down onto him with a gasp. Her thighs clamp tightly around his hips and she leans forward, planting her hands in the pillow on either side of his head, her hair a crown of disarray, her face exultant.

“Oh, I’ve wanted this _all day_ ,” she says, kissing him deeply. He cradles her head in his hands, her hair woven through his fingers, utterly lost in the warmth of her mouth on his, and it would _almost_ be enough if it weren’t for how exceptional she feels surrounding other parts of him. Before he is too far gone, she breaks from him to raise herself back up.

He enjoys the view this position presents almost more than any other. He watches in a trance as she slips one hand between her legs to help coax herself to release, the other covering his hand as he kneads the soft flesh of her breast, her hips rocking steadily back and forth. Her internal muscles contract around him the moment she touches herself…a feeling so delightful it’s _almost_ enough to distract him from the wholly unexpected and horrifying sensation of a small hand abruptly grabbing his foot.

_How in the Nine…_

His hands fly to his wife’s hips to still her, his fingers nearly cutting into her flesh with urgency. “Sigyn… _stop_ …”

“Blessed _Norns_ ,” she hisses. “What is it _now_ –“

“Papa?”

Sigyn swears an oath and pitches forward with a squeal, molding her chest to Loki’s as she buries her face into his neck.

“I thought you sealed the door,” she whispers as he hurriedly grabs the furs next to them and throws them over their bodies.

“I _did_ ,” he says back through gritted teeth. He rotates his head slowly to find their daughter standing beside the bed once again, her enormous eyes studying them intently. He is immediately grateful for their failure to illuminate any of the lights in the room; he hopes the dim glow of the fire has hidden enough from her scrutiny.

Never in his life has Loki had an erection so thoroughly deflate so quickly; after the day he’s had, it will be a miracle if his cock ever cooperates again.

“Unna,” he says gently so as not to frighten her, “how did you get in here?”

“Through the door.”

“There was a spell on the door, darling.”

“Uh huh. I took it off,” she says, rubbing her eye with the heel of her hand.

“You took it off?”

“Did you teach her how to do that?” Sigyn mutters as she moves off of him under the furs, her voice low.

“Why would I teach her how to do that?” he whispers back, incredulous. He turns his attention back to Unna. “Little dove, how did you take that spell off the door?”

“I don’t know. I just told it to go away and it did.”

“And why did you do that?”

“I was scared the bad monster from my dream was going to come get me.” She looks at Sigyn. “Mama, you don’t have any clothes on,” she says matter-of-factly. “I saw your bottom. Why were you sitting on Papa?”

Sigyn takes a deep breath before answering. “Well, darling, your father and I were just playing a game.”

Unna wrinkles her little forehead. “What kind of game? It looks funny.”

“Well, it’s a grown up game. One for mothers and fathers to play when they’re alone.”

“Oh. Did you win? That’s why you were sitting on him?”

This time, Loki is the one to speak. “No, my sweet girl…I don’t think either one of us is winning this game tonight.”

* * *

Ten minutes later – after awkwardly conjuring clothes onto his body beneath the sheets and extracting himself from the bed – Loki walks Unna back to her room.

He makes a show of sweeping through her chambers, peeking behind doors and under the bed, ensuring his tiny daughter of the thorough absence of any monsters wishing to do her harm. It helps tremendously, and Unna climbs back into her bed without a fuss. He leans down to kiss the top of her head.

“All settled, then?”

“Yes, Papa,” she says, her tone uncertain. After a breath, she speaks again. “Are you angry with me for making that spell go away?”

“Angry? No, darling. I was _surprised_ , but I’m not angry about it. Your skills are coming along far faster than we’d previously thought. Before long, you’re going to be even better than me.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Oh, yes,” he says, and he means it. “But when that happens, I only have one request. When your mother and I are alone in our chambers, and the door is locked and sealed…leave it how you found it. Sometimes there are really good reasons for parents to want some privacy.”

Unna nods, her eyes solemn. “I’m sorry about your game.”

“Oh that. It’s not important. I’m just happy you’re all right.” The stuffed rabbit he cherished as a child is now Unna’s most prized possession; he tucks it under the covers with her as she sinks down into the bed.

“Did I ever tell you that Skoppa here is the best guard rabbit in the entire Nine Realms?”

“Is he really?”

“Absolutely.” He draws a quick rune of protection into the worn cloth of Skoppa’s back, and the rabbit briefly shimmers with magic. “He’ll keep you safe when you’re alone. I promise.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

“You’re welcome, little dove. Sleep well.”

He dims the lights – taking care to leave a single illuminated sconce for Unna’s comfort – and makes his way back to his chambers as quickly as he can.

_Now…no more interruptions, no more distractions, no more interferences. Darling wife, I hope you’re prepared._

He bolts the door and seals it with a stronger spell than before – one he knows his daughter will be unable to remove – and turns back to the bed to find Sigyn curled around her pillow and sleeping so soundly he’s amazed she isn’t snoring.

He wants to scream from the unfairness of it all. He wants to jump on the bed, wake his wife up and defile her into oblivion. He wants to curse the fates and their ceaseless attempts to ruin everything good in his life. But in the end, he does none of these things; instead, he drops his robe and crawls under the furs, a bone-deep weariness settling into him.

“Happy anniversary,” he whispers into the dark. “Next year, we’re going to get it right.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love to imagine that approximately 500 years later, Loki and Unna are talking and he innocuously uses the word "game" in conversation, and she is hit with a sudden and terrible memory of this incident, and with razor-sharp clarity realizes exactly what kind of "game" her parents were up to all those years ago.


End file.
